


Rated T For Toilets

by vtn



Category: Manic Street Preachers, Music RPF
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the Toilet Incident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rated T For Toilets

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to recall I wrote this to freak out Kyra, so this is for her.

Today, Billy Bragg is finding his practiced punk-rock socialist rhetoric thrown off by a pair of legs. 

"Pardon?" says the pair of legs, or rather the man attached to them. If Billy can actually remove his eyes from those shapely thighs, then yes, he can see it's a man, despite the presence of a flowery dress that stretches across his knees. A man with a smile on his face somewhere between cheeky and ecstatic, and possibly more teeth than he's legally allowed.

"I was just saying, your own toilet, how very bourgeois of you," he stammers. 

"I, erm," says Legs, "Hi. I'm Nicky Wire."

"I'm—"

"Don't," Nicky Legs interrupts. "I know. I love you," he wheezes. Brilliant, that makes two of them disarmed. "But you've interrupted my toilet. I'm sorry." He shuts the door in Billy's face.

It is beginning to occur to Billy that perhaps Nicky is not a man who insists on a rock'n'roll class stratification wherein only those with the privilege of fame can afford toilets, toilets unmarred by the asses of the masses, but rather that he is simply a man who wants to go to the toilet in peace.

Billy waits outside.

"Hello again Billy Bragg," says Nicky. He looks extremely nervous. "I don't like public toilets 'cause, last time I went in the men's, this huge bloke told me I should be in the ladies'."

"That doesn't even make sense," says Billy. "It's a single toilet! There aren't going to be any other men in there telling you you should go in the ladies'! There aren't even men's and ladies individual toilets!"

"Also last time I was at Glasto, someone had taken all the bog rolls."

"Fair point." Then Billy steels himself. "But you can just put napkins in your bag. And that's napkins as in serviettes, not ladies' menstrual napkins, in case you weren't sure, Mr. High Class."

"I'm not high class," Nicky says. His face is a bit red. "I know I'm wearing M&S, but honestly I got this from an Oxfam, and I don't even know what a serviette is, is that French? and—hey, and in 1984 I marched in the miners' strike. It was dead good actually. I got a flag with a hammer and sickle on." 

"You went to an Oxfam to buy Marks and Sparks? You are poor," Billy admits. He glances down at those legs again. "And you have good taste in dresses."

"Thanks," says Nicky. "So d'you understand if poor little me just has his own toilet?"

"No," says Billy, "Because I need to go toilet and all the other ones are occupied."

"Will you sign one of my records first?"

Billy sighs and waits until Nicky returns with a ratty copy of Talking with the Taxman about Poetry. (Did Nicky bring a record to Glasto just in case this meeting happened? Quite possibly.) It has a "99p" sticker on it.

"Did you buy that from an Oxfam as well then?" Billy asks, signing the record.

"Not exactly," says Nicky, looking uncomfortable. "I, erm... I stole it from an Oxfam."

"Damn the man," says Billy, and he pushes Nicky aside to enter the toilet. He is doing his business when Nicky peeks in. "Oi, mate, what the fuck 're you playing at?" Nicky quickly shuts the door.

"Checking to see if you were keeping it clean in there, and not taking too much bog roll," Nicky says meekly. "Erm, it's quite nice though, I must say."

"What's quite nice?"

"Y'know, your...er..." 

Billy feels his face flush. "Your legs aren't half bad either," he says.

"Fancy a snog?" Nicky says.

If that isn't the most rock star thing Billy's ever heard of—! Snogging a fan in the Glasto toilets? But hey, the Manic Street Preachers said it themselves, we're all bourgeois now.

"Sure," he says. He lets Nicky in, and the two of them crash together, lips meeting, hands roaming. 

And so it was that next time the Manics appeared at Glastonbury, Billy Bragg sent them extra toilet paper, with "no hard feelings" written on the first sheet.


End file.
